


They Never tell

by AconiteArt



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bugs & Insects, Buried Alive, Deal with Death, Decay, Immortality, Prose Poem, Roaring 20s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 10:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AconiteArt/pseuds/AconiteArt
Summary: A red tuxa game of cardsthe mind lives foreverthe body rotsdeath walks away, and never tells a soul





	They Never tell

You’ve always known it would end up this way  
In this line of business, no one lasts long  
You’re the best at the trade, rolling high  
It’s natural that a customer would finally get testy  
You still hear the jazz band playing, the trumpets ringing out  
Though, that might just be the ringing in your ears  
The scent of booze and regrets blends with the gunsmoke  
Now though, another noise takes over as the last song fades

Clip clop, clip clop

A pale horse trots down the alley, the man on its back sitting pretty  
You’re very familiar with the gentleman on top  
Even with the cigar smoke hiding his face from view   
You’ve seen many that have met with him  
Hell, you’ve set up more than a few of them yourself  
Still, you’d hoped you’d have a bit more time before your own  
Shame to go out with a red tux, it was supposed to be white

He’s checking his watch, making sure everything's on time  
You stand to face him, it don’t hurt anymore  
It’d put a real damper on your reputation to be found laying outside  
Your tux keeps getting redder  
It’s not easy to look him in the face, though you’ve been told the same  
Guess you aren't too different  
Without him, your line of work wouldn’t get far

You both know why he’s here  
Neither of you are real interested in this meeting  
But, that’s business for ya  
Still, you’ve given up too much to stop now  
You’re the best at the trade  
You can still swing this meeting in your favor

You offer him a game of cards  
If you win, you get to walk away from the meeting without looking back  
You suppose his line of work don’t often give him a chance to play  
In this city, he’s not got a lotta downtime  
He accepts, and you sit down for a round  
You spend most of the game dragging your feet  
He don’t play often, but he’s been practicing for a long time  
Not long enough  
You throw down your hand and win it all 

He smiles wide at his loss  
before flicking the ash of his cigar on your face   
It’s hot, your skin stains red wherever it falls  
He keeps his word, lets you walk away  
He trots away and never tells a soul

Clip clop, clip clop

You’re leaving the alley when you slump back down  
Your legs give out  
He left the meeting but never resolved its cause  
You’re painting the concrete red at this point  
So that's what it feels like, that's what your clients saw  
Can’t be too much left now  
The world spins and darkens, but refuses to go black

The moon travels across the sky  
A shower comes and goes, but it don’t take the red  
There’s too much to wash away  
It takes until the crack of dawn for you to be found  
Some dame from the speakeasy sees you  
She seems happy you’re dead  
You aren't, but she don’t know better 

Not her business you’re supposed to be dead  
‘Sides, not like the coppers would believe a dame  
Not about something like this  
So you stay there, laying in the grime and the red  
It don’t seem right to be stuck at the bottom when you’ve lived at the top  
She walks away and never tells a soul

Eventually, some mooks find you  
They know you on sight, have worked under you before  
They aren't surprised about the situation either  
They, at least, break out the body bag  
Your jacket’s abandoned for a Chicago overcoat   
They leave you in the dirt and never tell a soul

You knew it would come to this  
You knew it as soon as you joined the business  
But you’d never thought you’d be aware of your own grave  
You’re starting to regret walking away from the meeting  
Everything’s dirty, the soil’s sticking to you  
There’s nothing left to pump but your heart keeps beating

You can’t move your body  
Dirt is falling down your throat   
It’s in your eyes, but it’s not like that matters now  
Time means nothing down below  
The air grows thicker  
Around the dirt in your mouth

Bugs  
They got through the bag  
They’re on you  
In you  
Eating  
Burrowing  
Breeding  
Getoutgetoutgetout

You feel your body swelling  
Gases bubble in your veins  
Liquids trickle from every hole  
Your hair is falling out  
Your skin splits  
The bugs eat deeper  
Larvae wriggle in your guts  
A foul smell hangs   
You think your eyes are gone  
It’s impossible to tell

Sometimes you think he’s coming back  
For another meeting  
You swear you hear him  
Clip clop, clip clop  
He never comes back and never tells a soul  
The maggots eat your ears and you stop listening

The gas leaves your body  
You start to wither  
Fluids soak into the bag  
You’re swimming in your own flesh  
More and more bugs crawl inside you  
They eat all your body  
They leave you alone and never tell a soul

Most maggots are gone  
Even they left you  
You don’t think much anymore  
They ate your brain too  
It probably still stinks   
All your senses are dead  
He still won’t come to get you

All your thoughts are of the meeting  
Please  
Please come back  
You’re sorry  
So  
So  
Sorry


End file.
